Rain slammed against the windows in front of Captain James Halifax. He watched silently as the bow of his ship sliced through rapidly worsening waves. The radio crackled with an incoming transmission, and he tilted his head slightly to better listen over the rain. "...This is the last transmission of Admiral Ryan Halliday, Eagle Union Conventional Navy. New York is...gone. The Siren's came with a fury we've never seen before, swept aside our defenses without effort. We, as a people and as a species, have entered a new stage in this war for our very survival. To anyone who can hear this, I will say only this..."
The hull of the Ticonderoga Class Cruiser Leyte Gulf groaned as if to emphasize the Admiral's pause, icebreaker bow slamming through walls of water. There were close to four hundred souls aboard his ship, a dozen of them severely wounded Kansen. It was late in the season, but he'd chosen to put them at additional risk to lose any pursuit by driving them straight into a Category Three hurricane dubbed Franklin by NOAA. "Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light."
There was a metallic sound, like steel against steel, that echoed through the radio. The Admiral's voice took on a more desperate tone. "Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning, they do not go gentle into that good night."
The smashing sounds grew and intensity, and it was then that Halifax knew that there were Sirens smashing their way into the underground commander bunker in New York Harbor. "Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light."
The audible sound of a handgun cocking and rifles being readied echo through the bridge. "Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, and learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, do not go gentle into that good night. Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight. Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light."
Metal shears, and gunfire echoes like thunder. "And you, my father, there on the sad height. Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage... Rage against the dying of the light."
There is a final sigh as the gunfire starts to die out to the shrieking wails of energy weapons. "Good luck, and godspeed." A gunshot, much louder than the others, and the microphone cuts out. They were alone.
Written 10/02/21